


Good Code (bad follow through)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Drama, Gen, Tobias: basically a nerdy little cinnamon bun angel that must be protected at all costs, allusions to animal injury/traumatic experience, broken home: reference to borderline child neglect/abuse, spoilers for 1x01, spoilers for promo for 1x02, teenager issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4692038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His fingers paused over the keys.</p><p>Where did he feel safe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Code (bad follow through)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serpetinefire1 (serpetinefire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpetinefire/gifts), [thegaymerist](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thegaymerist), [pia-lexandra](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pia-lexandra).



> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's "Fear The Walking Dead" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: I was intrigued by Tobias' character in the pilot and wanted to explode some of the development he went through off-screen. *Massive thank you to: onedayyoujustchange, thegaymerist and pia-lexandra on tumblr who consented to be the inspiration for the three online friends mentioned during the course of this oneshot. Thank you for letting me twist you to my whims and for being generally awesomesause when I got excited about murdering some of you.
> 
> Warnings: *Contains: vague spoilers for 1x01, vague spoilers in relations to the 1x02 promo: specifically why Tobias went back to the school when it was deserted and met up with Madison, angst, teenage issues, drama, broken home: borderline child neglect/abuse, allusion to animal injury/traumatic experience, brief mention of Hurricane Katrina and New Orleans.

" _So why the knife? Hey. I could expel you just for crossing the threshold with that thing."_

" _No plea– we're safer in numbers."_

" _Safer from what? Tobias, please don't screw yourself like this. You've been working your ass off. You're on track to go to college–"_

" _Hmph, yeah… no one's going to college. No one's doing anything they think they are."_

" _Well, what– what're you talking about?"_

" _Can I get my knife back please?"_

" _No, you can't get your knife back."_

" _They say it's not connected. They say that, but I don't believe them. I-it-it is. From reports in five states, they don't know if it's a virus or a microbe. They don't know, but it's spreading."_

" _You need to–"_

" _No, no- people are killing!"_

" _You need to spend less time online okay? If there's a problem we're going to know about it. The authorities would tell us."_

"… _.Yeah, sure. You're right Mrs. C. Can I go now please?"_

" _Yeah, you can go."_

* * *

He kept his head down, eyes on the cracks in the sidewalk all the way from the bus stop to the front gate before he realized what he'd done.

_Force of habit._

_Submissive._

_Prey behavior._

_Show your teeth._

_They know you're weak._

_Don't look at them and they'll leave you alone._

_Hit them back and they'll think twice._

_It's easy, I'll show you how it's done, son._

_Now come here and-_

_Just five more houses, you're almost there._

_Breathe._

He froze, one hand on the latch. Fighting the white-hot tremble that threatened to show across his face as he turned on his heel. A single giant pivot that made his joints ache as he looked around – carefully scared.

_Stay vigilant._

_Stay safe._

_Be aware of your surroundings._

_You need to see them coming to have a fighting chance._

_Don't be another statistic in a history book._

_Focus._

He chewed on the inside of his lip, marinating in his own sweat. The muggy city air particularly gross considering he'd chosen today of all days to try and hide in his over-sized sweater. He fumbled with the latch and tripped firmly into the front yard. Flinching at the bone-dry rustle of his mother's flowers on the veranda that he'd forgotten to water for the past two weeks. Looking up – deer in the headlights – as a group of girls – people from school that lived on his block but probably didn't know he existed – click-clicked past on their high heels. Chattering in hushed tones as they hurried home. The barely audible  _pop-pop-pops_  from the video he was sure everyone in the country had seen by now looping on their phones as his own beeped - low battery - in his hoodie pocket.

The dead man walking.

Everyone was talking about it.

Saying that it couldn't be real.

Could it?

He flinched again when his teeth worried his split-lip open. Skin crackle-dry and stinging as the tang of blood seeped across his tongue. He could feel the crusts of sleep catching in the corners of his eyes, pulling at his lashes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept through the night.

Had he even remembered his medication today?

_Crap._

He-

He needed to get inside.

* * *

He missed doing a header over the last step by a fraction of an inch, clumsy and tired as he tumbled through the front door. Wrinkling his nose at the smell coming from the stack of dirty dishes pilled in the sink before calling out reflexively.

"I'm home!"

No one answered. But then again, why would they? No one was here. His mom had been gone to some resort in Mexico with her boyfriend for the last two weeks. He didn't even know she was going anywhere until he came home from school one day and found a pile of cash and a note stuck to the fridge. The "love you" at the end seemed fake, forced and scrunched onto the very end of the page.

He'd let her stupid flowers die out of spite.

He chucked his backpack onto the floor and grabbed a coke out of the fridge before heading up to his room. Cracking it open with a sugary hiss as he switched on his console and plugged in his phone to charge.

He wasn't in the mood the play, but something was picking at him. He scrolled down through his contacts and frowned.  _What the hell, Gaymer?_ They'd been playing Gears of War a few days ago when the dude had said something weird. Hitting pause in the middle of a fuckin' ambush.

"Hold on man, gotta check something. My sister's dog is going crazy, take a piss break or something, huh?" the guy remarked, speaking over his splutterings of: mid-ambush, low health and enemy snipers. Head set crackling with static as the microphone made contact with the floor and the distinct sound of bare feet  _thock-thocking_  down cheap university linoleum faded off down the hall.

That was it. That was the last he'd heard from him. He'd hit up his email a couple times. Same with skype, still nothing. The guy hadn't even been online. Which was insane considering he played every day and had at least twice as many hours logged as he did. He checked the time on reflex. Trying to put some sort of reasoning to it as he calculated the time difference and shook his head. Columbia, Missouri was only two hours ahead so no help there.

_Player has paused game._

_Inactive for 52 hours._

He skimmed down the controller and banged out a quick message. Something along the lines of: "Dude, you dead or something? Hit me back so we can finish the level," before sending it before he could take it back. Hoping that if the guy was just being an ass or was swamped with a paper or something he'd at least tell him to fuck off.

He made a face and toggled back to the list, stomach churning – heavy on the acid as he wiped a sweaty hand across his face. Something wasn't right. This was big. More than what the websites were saying. Because he was looking at his list, gamers that were as hardcore as they came – some of which did it for a freakin' paycheck and-

Player is offline.  
Player is offline.  
Player is offline.  
Player is-

He toggled away, flinging his controller back onto the couch with a groan before booting up his laptop instead. The mouse-pad jumped, frenetic – stupid touch screen – before he keyed in the password. Clicking impatiently through the update notices before he sent the arrow flinging across the screen, about to hit google before-

He nearly jumped out of his skin when his skype chirped immediately. An insistent  _blurp-blurp_  that had him smacking accept just a bit too hard. Overeager when he saw who it was – feeling a hitch of tension soften in his chest as his friend's familiar script blinked onto screen.

Victorh: How did it go? Sorry I wasn't around this morning. Worked a double shift at the office. Heard some crazy shit.

Tobias1: Not so great. What did you hear? Things are happening down here. I don't know. There was only five of us on the bus this morning and that video- you saw it right?

Victorh: Yeah. I saw it. I can't say much, but that isn't the only one. It isn't an isolated incident. What do you mean "not great?" Please, tell me you didn't bring that knife?

Tobias1: You were the one that told me I had to protect myself. It was just an exacto-knife, not an actual knife or anything. Besides, how was I supposed to know they'd finally get the metal detector working? Not an isolated incident? So, there are more of them? Is the virus-

Victorh: Yes, but with your brain you idiot. You're lucky you didn't get your ass arrested.

Tobias1: Nah, Mrs. C is cool.

Victorh: But not cool enough to believe you?

Tobias1: Guess not.

His fingers flexed against the keys. Reliving the mortifying flashbacks of their earlier conversation as it washed over him like unwelcome waves.  _If there's a problem we're going to know about it. The authorities would tell us._ He snorted. Did she actually believe that?

Victorh: Cut her some slack. This is a lot to take in. You tried to tell her. That has to count for something. Hell, if I hadn't seen those reports I would have a hard time believing it was anything other than a virus. A bad one, sure, but not like this.

Tobias1: I know. That is what I am afraid of. What's happening out there?

Victorh: Nothing good. I dealt with triple the amount of clients for the past three days and they are all saying the same thing. People on the street, the homeless, they are going missing. Everyone and their god damned dog knows that those people generally stick around. They have their own support systems and families. They don't just up and leave like the police are saying. I might not be in L.A, but I know that whatever this is, its spreadinr.

Victorh: *spreading.

Tobias1: My mom is still in Mexico. I haven't heard from her. I called the number she left a half dozen times but no one answers.

Victorh: Did she leave the keys to the car?

Tobias1: Why? You know I can't drive. I am due to take my test like…a month from now. There's kind of no point in L.A though, there is always a bus. Besides, the wait list to get in is half a yearlong anyway. So, there was never really a reason to rush it.

Victorh: You might not have a choice. It's an automatic right? That's easy. Look, you can't say anything but-

He was startled from the conversation when the  _blurp-blurp_ of an oncoming web-call broke through the slow building wave of discomfort. Staring at the blinking sensor that framed the tail end of Victor's last text as he sucked in an unsteady breath and  _click-clicked_  an apology.

Tobias1: Hold on. Pia is calling, I have been trying to get a hold of her since yesterday. Don't go anywhere!

He minimized the window and accepted the video call. Vibrating a bit in his seat as the call connected. Mind buzzing as he worked through it, there was only an hour difference between where she was in Colorado to here. Still, she usually wasn't on until later and never wanted to video chat.  _Weird._

He wheeled backwards a fraction in his chair when a half-dark room flooded across the corner of his screen. Getting the vague outline of a half-made bed and a messy desk back-lit by a corner light that reflected the standing mirror propped up in the far corner of the room.

"Pia?" he called hesitantly.

He took a distracted sip from his pop only to nearly blow it out across the screen, flailing in his chair as his drink spilled down his wrists in sticky rivulets as her fucking cat - Chico -stepped into view, meowing curiously.

_Jesus Christ._

"Asshole cat," he muttered, rolling his eyes and trying to get his heart rate back down to something close to normal. Licking hurriedly at his wrists as he tried to see around the small mountain of loud orange tabby.

"Pia? You there?"

An annoying, nasally meow was the only thing that answered. Sniffing along the edges of the screen as dainty little paws  _click-clicked_  across the keyboard. Sending long, garbling strings of text flying across the screen as he slumped back into his chair with a groan.

 _Colossal asshole cat._ That was what she always called him. Irritatingly fond even when she woke up to yet another bunny genocide on her front porch. She loved the stupid thing, though. Had the cat accidentally sent the invite or-

He blinked, feeling a hot-cold fission of fear plunged down his spine as the cat moved, making the screen wobble as it settled back onto the keys, tail  _flick-flicking_ , showing it's other side for the first time. Orange fur matted a thickly red with half-dried blood.

His hands moved of their own accord as he hit record. Not really thinking much beyond the moment itself as he stared, uncomprehending.  _Was that blood? Shit._   _Where the hell was Pia?_

"Chico?"

He barely recognized his own voice, hearing it echo shakily – scared – as somewhere in the background of the shot, a singular smudge of shadow pulled itself upright on the bed. Long hair curtaining as a low growl shot the decibels of the recording right through the low range.

"Chico? Hey kitty…you okay? Can you turn that way again, huh? I just want to see-"

His conversation window with Victor flashed, insistent on the corner bar. Catching his attention as he looked down, then up again. Trying to figure out if the cat was actually hurt or if that was something, or  _someone_  else's blood.

He caught the rest in a tail-end scramble, with Chico burning kitty rubber trying to fling himself off the keyboard the same moment the smudge he'd figured was a shadow separated itself from the mound of blankets and stumbled upright.

"Jesus fuc-"

He fell backwards off his chair, hitting the ground the same moment a bloody hand – silver rings and chipped nail polish - swiped at the air Chico had been occupying about half a second earlier. Sending the laptop sliding off the desk and hitting the floor with the deafening flutter of flying papers and a frightened meow before the screen closed or broke or maybe both and the connection cut off.

There were words. Swears and garbled strings of "what the hell" and "jesus shit" in any number of combinations that he could have been saying. But his throat was dry. Parched and unforgiving as a sting of unshed tears collected in the corners of his eyes.

_Gaymer._

_Now Pia._

_What was happening?_

_What was going on?_

He dropped back into his chair and stopped the recording. Saving it quickly before reformatting and attaching it to Victor in an email before he clicked back to their conversation. Hurriedly reading through what he'd been typing while he'd been waiting as he jiggled his mouse nervously.

Victorh: I'm not sure if there is a problem with the networks but my connection isn't the best. If I go dark, don't worry.

Victorh: Holy crap! Something just exploded on the edge of town! I felt the shockwaves.

Victorh: Twitter is going nuts. Apparently some semi-truck ran into a gas station and the whole thing went up. Witnesses were saying he was being chased by a mob of people. But that doesn't make any sense. He was in a semi. How is that even a thing?

Tobias1: Back. Just sent you something. YOu need to watch it right now. I don't know what happened, but I think Pia might be dead. Just watch it and tell me I am not crazy. Tell me..

Tobias1: *You.

Tobias1: Did you get it?

Tobias1: I got a skype call from her, but I think her cat stepped on the keyboard or something and then, I don't know.

Victorh: I got it. Jesus. I hope she is okay. Right now you can't jump to conclusions. Send it to the police station where she lives and let them do a welfare check. Say you are concerned after your web-chat cut off. Do that now and then get back to me.

Tobias1: K. Hold on.

He was still shaking when he breezed through the Station's contact information and attached the video to their twitter account. Figuring it was quickest way to get their attention before exiting out and returning to the chat window.

Tobias1: Done. It's public now so they will have to get back to me if they want me to pull it and do their own investigation. They have an active twitter feed so hopefully that is the best way to get their eyes on it.

Victorh: Whatever works, it's in their hands now. You have your own problems. I have been listening to the police scanners here and things aren't getting better. They are getting worse. Remember what we talked about on the weekend? About emergency situations?

Tobias1: Yeah, but-

Victorh: Tobias, listen to me. I can't say much. I am probably getting to get fired if this gets out but you have to know. What we talked about? It's going to happen. At least the first part. And in L.A? It's going to be bad. There is too many people jammed together. Even if it is just the panic, it's going to be a war-zone out there.

Tobias1: What are you saying? I need to get out of the city? Do you know how much a cab ride like that would cost? The money Mom left me is practically gone, man.

Victorh: You need to treat this like any emergency situation. Remember New Orleans? It was either get out early or batten down the hatches, fortify and pray your ass was on high enough ground.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking. There was canned stuff in the cupboards. Not a ton but enough for a few days. There were the kitchen knives. He could take one of those, just in case. But the house? There was no way he could make that safe. It was all windows and close to a six lane freeway.

Tobias1: I don't think I can get out of the city.

The cursor blink-blinked as his friend typed. Starting to get the feeling that the guy wasn't at home at all, but rather on his mobile. Victor hated skyping on his cell, said the app was almost as bad as tumblr's. Eating his data like nothing else every time he booted it up.

Tobias1: You alright?

Victorh: Fine. Just shaken up. Stuck in traffic. My girlfriend is freaking out and doesn't want to be alone. I am going to bring her and her dogs back to my place for the weekend. I might not be online as much, so don't worry.

Victorh: Is there somewhere you can go? Somewhere safe? With supplies? Somewhere you can shore up and ride all this out in? At least until the panic is over? When everything goes down you don't want to be out on the streets. That'll be suicide. I don't want to be worrying about your pasty ass, dude. Tell me you have a plan?

His fingers paused over the keys.

_Where did he feel safe?_

The question was almost laughable. He hadn't felt safe in weeks. And before that it seemed like everywhere he looked there was another asshole swooping in for the kill at school. Another bully. Mrs. C had helped though, she was nice. Her office had a solid oak door and just a tiny little window to see out of. She'd been the one that had pointed out his grades and told him about the scholarships for university. Engineering. Mathematics. She'd reminded him why he used to like coming to school, before-

He swallowed hard, making the decision long before his fingers flew across the keyboard.

Tobias1: There is one place I know.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference: Kudos to gunslingerdixon for transcribing the conversation between Tobias and Madison Clark.


End file.
